


Anonymous Asked a Question

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock - TV
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Stoner sherlock, Teenlock, and John is a fandom blogger, apologies in advance I guess, in which Sherlock has a hipster photography blog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was bored. Very bored.</p><p>And that meant Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alrightio, well sorry if this is crap!  
> This is for my best friend Aisling; I hope you like it, and feel better soon!

John Watson was bored. Very bored.

He sat in his room and stared blankly at one of the Doctor Who posters on his wall. Being grounded was possibly one of the most mind-numbing things he had ever experienced. It wasn't the first time he had been grounded, but before he had Harry to keep him company. This time, however, his sister had decided to go to a friend's house for the night. 

So John was alone in the house. His parents were downstairs watching TV, sure, but he might as well have been alone. It's not as if he would go downstairs and have a deep heart-to-heart chat about why he was grounded. It wasn't like it was his fault in the first place.

After about ten minutes of staring blankly at his poster-covered wall, John shook his head and got to his feet, stretching. Thankfully, his parents hadn't thought to confiscate his laptop, and he gladly retrieved it and sat it across his thighs as he settled back comfortably on his bed. He logged onto Tumblr on autopilot, before absently opening another window and carelessly visiting YouTube and clicking on one of the cat videos. He couldn't explain why, but he thoroughly enjoyed videos of cats doing strange, funny or clever things. He didn't particularly like actually cats, but they amused him on the Internet. Particularly when they fall off things. That always makes him laugh.

A few of the videos make him smirk, but he gets bored quickly and switches back to Tumblr. Nothing new on his dashboard, much to his disappointment. Maybe he should follow some more blogs. But where to even start? After some thought, he followed two Star Trek blogs, one Doctor Who blog, and a blog that posted funny cat gifs.

A few more minutes of clicking through some blogs at random, John came across a blog with the URL _thescienceofdeduction._ It seemed to be mainly photography orientated and he blinked, unable to remember how he had ended up on the page. Fairly uninterested, he scrolled down through some of the posts. After a moment, his eyebrows inched higher in interest.

Some of these photos were pretty damn good. John would be the first person to admit that he didn't exactly have an artistic eye, but he could appreciate talent when he saw it. Almost all of the photos were in black and white, but that seemed to be the only connection between them. They were an eclectic collection of still shots from everyday life, and yet somehow the photographer managed to capture something different in them. They looked almost ethereal, and John found himself staring at them. He clicked the follow button, before his eyes were drawn to the short bio.

_17, London. Photography blog. Don't ask me to follow you back, the chances of me being interested in your inconsequential personal pages are infinitesimally low._

John barely held back a snort of laughter. What a dick. He noticed a 'personal' tag, and clicked on it. Purely out of curiosity, of course. 

When the page loaded, John blinked in surprise. They were all pictures of a boy; the blogger, John assumed. And he was gorgeous.  
Scrolling down, John gazed at each picture in curious interest. The blogger never seemed to look directly at the camera; his head was always turned away at an angle, so only a glimpse of sharp cheekbones and a well-defined nose could be seen below thick, black, curly hair. 

Finally, John found a picture where the blogger was facing the camera, although it looked like an accident. The photo obviously hadn't been taken by the blogger - it lacked his distinct style (although John couldn't for the life of him describe what that "distinct style" even was). The boy was obviously trying to stifle a smile, and his eyes were rolled up to heaven, as if whoever was taking the picture had made a ridiculous remark. His hair was insanely ruffled and it seemed to stick out in all different directions, and his cheekbones stood out starkly in the black and white filter. One of the tags underneath read _"my idiot brother's first semi-successful attempt at photography"._ The tag made John smile slightly. It wasn't was he would call 'semi-successful'. The photo was great - although that may have been because of the boy, rather than the quality of the photos.  
Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, John clicked on the 'Ask' option and began typing.

_hey there. ur photography is great._

He clicked Anonymous and sent it quickly, before he had the chance to change his mind. But once it had sent, his mind clouded with doubt. Why the hell had he done that? That was so stupid! The chances of the blogger even seeing his ask were low, but replying to it? Why would he even bother? The short bio had made it pretty clear that he wasn't on Tumblr for socialising.

"It doesn't matter." He breathed to himself, shaking his head. "It's just a stupid anonymous ask." Even so, he found himself constantly refreshing the blog.

After a few minutes of no activity, John figured the blogger wasn't online and he switched back to YouTube to watch some more cat videos. The cats became a bit too repetitive, and so he watched a few cartoons.  
He was just about to turn his laptop off completely and go to bed when he decided to check the photography blog one more time.

This time, when he refreshed there were several new posts. John perked up, scrolling down curiously. There were several new pictures, and he admired one of a delicately winding tree with twisty branches for a moment before scrolling down again. And there was his answered ask.

 _Anonymous asked: hey there. ur photography is great._  
 **I'm glad you think so. I'm inclined to agree.**

It was a short answer, but John found he had a stupid grin on his face. He wiped it off quickly and began to type again. 

_so what's up with ur URL? What does science and deduction have to do w/ photography?_

He clicked anon and submitted again before he could change his mind. There was another few moments of uncertain waiting to see if he'd get an answer, but the reply came much swifter this time.

_Anonymous asked: so what's up with ur URL? what does science and deduction have to do w/ photography?_  
 **my URL has nothing to do with my photography. The science of deduction is another one of my hobbies. It means I like solving crimes, in case you don't understand.**

John hadn't understood, but he didn't like this guys tone.

_i understood what it meant. what sort of crimes do you solve?_

The responses were getting quicker; on the third time he had refreshed the page, John spotted his ask.

_Anonymous asked: i understood what it meant. what sort of crimes do you solve?_  
 **Depends. Generally only things that interest me. Most crimes are painfully boring. Why do you care so much?**

The question threw John slightly. Why shouldn't he care? These answers were just beginning to get interesting. What sort of person found most crimes to be 'painfully boring'? Furthermore, what sort of 17 year old solves crimes?

_i care cause ur interesting. im sure u get loads of asks all the time_

The next answer was very short and simple.

**No.**

Undeterred by the clipped and unfriendly reply, John began typing back. 

_no? u dont get asks all the time? i thought u wud get them all the time, cause of how popular ur blog seems to be_

Maybe he was pushing it, sending all these asks at once. Was it too much? He had never spoken to anyone over the Internet like this, so he didn't know what exactly he was doing. Maybe the photographer didn't want these asks. He was probably just annoying him. He should probably stop now.

But the next time he refreshed the page and saw that he had a reply, he found a grin stretching across his face again without his permission.  
 _Anonymous asked: no? u dont get asks all the time? i thought u wud get them all the time, cause of how popular ur blog seems to be_  
 **I rarely receive asks. I believe my bio may dissuade people from attempting to contact me, which was what I intended. You seem to be intent on irritating me, however. Have you too much spare time on your hands?**

John's previous worries about annoying the blogger disappeared. If he really hadn't wanted John to keep messaging him, he wouldn't have asked a question at the end of his reply.

_unfortunately, i do. my parents grounded me, so i have nothing to do but stalk ur wonderful blog and admire ur photography skills_

Once again, the reply came quickly. It seemed that the other blogger was actually interested in the conversation. That sent a quick thrill through John; hardly anyone was ever actually interested in him.

**Why were you grounded?**

_i got in trouble_

Don't insult my intelligence. What did you do in order for your parents to think that confining you to the house would be an appropriate punishment for? 

Pursing his lips, John considered not answering. And yet, this conversation was the most interesting thing to happen to him in several days. He didn't want to just cut it off because he didn't want to answer a question.

_my sister crashed my parents' car when she was drunk. she was ok, but pretty shaken up, so i took the blame for it._

_Anonymous asked: my sister crashed my parents' car when she was drunk. she was ok, but pretty shaken up, so i took the blame for it._  
 **So you took the blame for something that was entirely not your fault, resulting in your own punishment, out of some misplaced sense of guilt.**

John blinked at the screen.

_i never said i was guilty_

The blogger seemed to ignore that.

**May I guess where your sister is now?**

_um... i guess so?_

**Is she at a "friend's house"**

_how did u know that?_

**She's not at her friend's house, you know.**

John's fist clenched on his lap. He knew that, of course; Harry didn't have any friends. Of course she would never go and visit someone else's house. He had absolutely no illusions as to where his sister was going; it was pretty obvious when she stumbled into his room by mistake at 4.56 am, slurring her words and giggling.

_and what do u mean by that?_

**You know exactly what I mean by that. And just as a matter of interest, what is your name? I find it disconcerting talking to someone when I can't put a name to them.**

_John_

**"John". How... generic. I was hoping for something a little more exciting.**

_well, u'll have 2 deal with it_

**And is John your real name?**

_yes. im going to bed now. just by the way, i think u should post more pictures of urself. i would certainly post loads of pictures if i looked like u_

John had just hit send when he realised what he had just said, and his eyes flew wide open. Holy shit. Did he actually just-? He fucking did. Why did he do that? Why would he think that was okay?  
He didn't even wait to see if he got a reply. He just turned off the laptop and burrowed into bed in embarrassment.  
He fell asleep quickly after that.

The next morning, _thescienceofdeduction_ had a new addition to the "personal" tag.

It was a picture of the dark haired boy, gazing directly into the camera with a lazy smirk tugging up one side of his mouth. A few dark curls hung haphazardly over one of his eyes, obscuring it from view. One of his eyebrows was arched challengingly. It was in his trademark black and white, and John found himself wanting to know what colour the boy's eyes were.

The picture was captioned _"For John, my grammatically challenged anon"_

For the rest of the day, John found himself grinning every time he thought of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I didn't make it clear enough in the first chapter that this story is dedicated to my friend Aisling. Either that or she's an idiot, and I'm kind of more inclined to believe the second option.
> 
> But anyway! Here's the second chapter :)

Sherlock Holmes sat at his desk in front of his computer and chewed thoughtfully at his lip as he gazed at some of the photos he had taken earlier on in the day. He didn't consider any of them to be of a good enough standard to upload online, and that caused a curl of frustration in his stomach. He'd try again tomorrow, but the feeling of mediocrity left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Knock, knock, little brother."

"No." Sherlock didn't glance up as he spoke, his tone sharp. 

His brother ignored him, breezing in cheerfully and making his way over to where Sherlock was sitting. "Ah, you've been taking photographs again." He noted, leaning over the younger boy's shoulder to peer at the computer screen, ignoring the way his brother grit his teeth. "I still don't think it's wise to substitute a hobby for friends-"

"Kindly fuck off, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped, closing his photography file and turning to push his brother out of the room.

"Don't let mother hear you using that language."

"Fuck. _Off._ "

"You've been spending too much time on crass websites on the Internet, baby brother." The words were accompanied by a disdainful glance at the computer. 

"Do not make assumptions about what I do in my spare time."

Mycroft sneered at him. "Of course not."

Sherlock didn't reply as he watched his brother leave with narrowed eyes. Once the door had shut behind him, he let out a frustrated growl before turning back to his computer and maximising his Tumblr window. There was a '1' next to his inbox icon, and he clicked into it with a raised eyebrow. 

_so sherlock, star wars r star trek?_

A tiny hint of a smile crossed Sherlock's face as he clicked the reply button. In truth, he had been genuinely nervous about uploading that photo of himself for the anon. He _never_ uploaded photos where you could see his face fully, save for that one stupid picture Mycroft had taken months ago. It was probably a stupid idea to post one just because someone ( _"John",_ his mind supplied) told him he should. 

And then the anon had continued sending asks. At first, they had been related to Sherlock's photography. Then, they had moved on to more personal questions; favourite colours, movies, music etc.. John had seemed horrified at the thought of Sherlock never having seen Star Wars, and he had instructed him to watch the entire series at once. And for some reason, Sherlock did. And when John had asked what his first name was (since apparently it was only fair that they both knew each others first names), Sherlock had told him.

**Star Trek, without a doubt. The errors in physics were too numerous throughout the Star Wars franchise to ignore. Star Trek was only slightly better, but I did enjoy the adventures the crew engage in.**

After he sent it, he waited patiently for a reply. A minute later, he began tapping his fingers irritably. John was obviously extremely slow at typing.   
He checked his inbox again, to no avail, before sighing impatiently and picking up his camera to look through his pictures. He had taken a few good shots of plantlife at the park and a good shot of a swan, but there was something indiscernible missing and the longer he looked at them the more frustrated he got. He didn't like them. He didn't know why, he just didn't.  
Irritated now, he turned back to Tumblr and refreshed the page, relaxing slightly when he saw that John had finally replied.

_haha i guess i see where ur coming from... But im not a genuis, so i wudnt notice so many mistakes_

Sherlock's eye twitched irritably at the atrocious grammar, and he forcibly restrained himself from reconstructing the entire sentence. If it had been anyone else he would have, but this anon had been brightening his days since he had first submitted an ask. And brightening Sherlock's day took quite a considerable amount of effort.

**Would you ever consider coming off anonymous?**

Waiting for John's reply seemed to take hours but when Sherlock glanced at the clock, only three minutes had passed. 

After five minutes and thirty-three seconds, there was a reply.

_ur the genuis, y dont u deduce what my url is_

"It's spelt g-e-n-i-u-s." Sherlock grumbled to himself irritably, before sitting back in his chair with a sigh. So John wanted him to deduce his URL. Fine.

Obviously John was a fandom blogger; that much was obvious from the way he spoke about 'shipping' Captain Kirk and Mister Spock in Star Trek (although Sherlock couldn't deny that there was a certain amount of chemistry between the two characters). It was clear that John was also a recent follower of Sherlock's, so the curly haired boy clicked into his follower count and scrolled through it lazily.

It took about forty seconds to find John's blog. It was the only fandom blog that followed Sherlock; all the other blogs were almost painfully hipster. So Sherlock clicked into _whats-on-john_ , rolling his eyes at the URL. It irritated him that he could have saved himself the bother of wondering who John was if he had just taken the time to look through his follower account a few days earlier. 

As the page loaded, Sherlock frowned deeply. Did he even want to see John's blog? What if it changed the idea of him that he had built up in his head? Maybe that was the reason he hadn't so much as attempted to figure out his anon's Tumblr identity. Maybe it was because he was afraid to know.

John had been funny and polite and witty (even if his grammar was absolutely awful) in every ask he sent to Sherlock, and he had seemed genuinely interested in everything Sherlock had to say. But it was so easy to fake interest over the Internet, and so easy to invent and project entire false personalities, no matter how genuine the messages may have seemed. Sherlock hadn't sensed anything insincere about any of the messages, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything.

And maybe this was a terrible idea.

But just as Sherlock moved his mouse up to close the window, the page loaded and he froze. 

John's icon was a picture of Captain Kirk from the original series of Star Trek, and his blog was entitled _I am actually Batman_. As Sherlock scrolled down through John's many reblogs, he found his lips tugging up in a tiny smile. It was all Batman, Star Trek, Doctor Who and Lord of the Rings posts, mixed with an absurd amount of cat gifs; It was just so _John_. 

And suddenly, it was like Sherlock's anxiety hadn't existed. Seeing John's blog had solidified the impression that he had been genuine the entire time, and Sherlock allowed himself to relax slightly as he clicked the 'Ask a Question' option.

**Found you. I see you weren't joking when you said you enjoyed cat gifs.**

After he had clicked send, Sherlock went back to scrolling down through all of John's posts. They were mostly reblogs and Sherlock didn't recognise most of the references, but he kept scrolling nonetheless. He found his eyebrows inching up again when he found a few posts about gay rights, and he stored the information away; he didn't know why, but he figured it might eventually turn out to be relevant. 

After refreshing John's Tumblr for the third time, Sherlock noticed his inbox had a '1' next to it again, and clicked into it curiously. John had answered Sherlock's question privately.

_holy fuck. u actually found me. i am so impressed right now. how did u even do that?_

**It was simple, John. Your name is in your URL. I could tell it was you just by looking through your blog. All your posts are either miscellaneous fandom-related or cats.**

_i don't care, i wudnt have been able to figure it out. id love 2 see u work on a proper case_

**You would probably find me extremely obnoxious. Most do.**

As Sherlock was sending the message, his bedroom door banged open again and Mycroft barged in. "Supper's ready-"

Cursing softly, Sherlock minimised the window before whirling to face his brother. "I told you to knock before coming in here!"

A strange look crossed Mycroft's face; it looked like a mix between fascination, excitement and disgust. "Were you watching porn again?"

"What? No! I told you, that was an experiment-"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course it was." He said disparagingly. "Don't worry; I think it's good that you're expressing an interest in sex. I believe it's quite normal for teenagers."

"When have I ever been normal?" The younger boy snapped irritably.

"Oh, don't be such a hipster and come down for supper." Mycroft sighed with a roll of his eyes before ducking back out of the room.

_Arsehole_ , Sherlock thought viciously as he quickly checked to see if John had replied. 

He had, and his answer was short.

_dont b so hard on urself. i think ur pretty cool_

Sherlock was still smiling when he went downstairs for supper, and not even Mycroft's stupid face dampened his mood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took ages, and it's pretty short, so sorry about that...  
> You can poke me with a long stick if you want

**I think my mother is angry at me.**

John raised an eyebrow at his askbox. Usually it was him who contacted Sherlock first, not the other way around. Not that he was complaining, of course. He was glad Sherlock had messaged him first; it made him feel less needy. 

_what did u do?_

**Why do you assume that I'm in the wrong?**

_cuz ur u_

**That's not a reason**

John rolled his eyes so hard it felt like they were going to roll right out of his head.

_tell me wat u did, u arse_

"John!" 

At the sound of his name, he jumped so violently that his head collided with the headboard of his bed. "Fuck!"

Harry bounced into the room, grinning widely. "I'm home!"

"When did you leave?" He asked with a wince, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yesterday." A frown puckered Harry's face. "You didn't even notice I was gone."

"What? No, I- I noticed." John lied quickly.

"Whatever." Yawning, she came over and flopped down next to her brother on his bed. She didn't miss the way he angled his laptop away from her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." The answer came far too quickly to be truthful.

"Show me." Harry demanded, leaning over in an attempt to see the screen.

John shoved her head with his hand. "Go away." 

"C'mon! Is it porn?"

"No! Fuck off, Harry."

"Why do you hate me?" She whined, burying her head in John's pillow. "I just wanna know what my big brother is doing on his laptop."

"How's Clara?" 

The change of subject was embarrassingly transparent, but Harry's face brightened at the thought of her girlfriend. "She's great! We went to the cinema yesterday to see that stupid new horror movie, and she was absolutely adorable! She screamed so much and tried to hide in my shoulder! And then I went to her house afterwards, and we played her Xbox until like four in the morning! Seriously, I like her so much!" 

John couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at his little sister's happiness. "So you stayed at her house?"

"Yeah. Don't look at me like that, we didn't _do_ anything." Harry rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not in any particular rush."

"Good." Satisfied, John leaned back. Clara was good for his sister; she didn't drink, she didn't party, and she made Harry _happy_. "When are you seeing her again?"

"Well, I'll see her at school tomorrow, but I'm guessing you mean outside of school?" When her brother nodded, Harry shrugged thoughtfully. "I don't know. I think I'm gonna ask her to go out again at the weekend." Her expression turned sly all of a sudden. "What about you? Anyone special on your end?"

"Nope." John sighed, shrugging too."I don't know why you even bother asking anymore."

"I'm holding out hope that you'll eventually find someone who can bear to listen to you talk about your stupid shit for more than five minutes."

"Yeah, well, don't hold your breath on that one." 

Smiling tiredly, Harry leaned over and gave her brother a small hug. "Goodnight, John."

"Night, Harry." He replied quietly, watching her walk out of his room. Once the door had closed behind her, he leaned his head back on his shoulders and sighed. Harry had good intentions, but if she tried to set him up on another blind date, he just might scream.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his laptop to see Sherlock's reply.

**There's no need for name-calling. And I got my eyebrow pierced. Apparently, my mother is unimpressed.**

John had to read the message twice. 

_u what?!_

**I got my eyebrow pierced. It means that I got a hole poked through my skin so I can wear small studs or rings in them.**

_y the fuck wud u do that?!_

**My mother thinks I'm going through a rebellious phase.**

A startled laugh left John's mouth unexpectedly. He didn't know how to feel about that; Sherlock had permanently marked his face with holes. Why would he do that? His face looked fine without any alterations.

_huh. i didnt peg u as the type_

**Neither did my mother, apparently.**

_well, how does it look?_

**Horrendous, according my mother. She thinks I look like, and I quote, "someone who would stab a person in an alley"**

John snorted and rolled his eyes. 

_im sure u look ok. well.. i hope u look ok_

**Your confidence is overwhelming**

_well i dont know until i c it 4 myself_

He waited for about ten minutes for a reply but when didn't get one, he exited his inbox and clicked into Sherlock's blog.

As he had been hoping, there was a new photo post. It was a close up shot of Sherlock's eyes, in black and white as usual. John's eyes were drawn to the silver bar in his eyebrow, and he felt a grin tug at his lips. He could only imagine how the rest of his face looked with his messy black hair and sharp eyes, now with an added eyebrow bar. He bet he would look amazing. And punkish. 

There was no caption, and John found himself feeling slightly disappointed at that. But then he shook his head; that was ridiculous. Was he feeling disappointed because Sherlock didn't dedicate a photo to him? He clicked back into his inbox, decidedly ignoring whatever it was that he was feeling.

_i was wrong_

**It really looks that bad? I could take it out and let it close over**

John couldn't help his grin as it took over his face. He was willing to let his piercing close over just cause John thought it was bad? Jeez, the guy probably had some extreme self-esteem issues.

_no, i meant it doesnt look "ok", it looks great_

**Oh.**

_sorry, i didnt mean 4 that 2 sound creepy_

**It didn't. Thank you**

Suddenly embarrassed, John quickly typed a "you're welcome, goodnight" and turned his laptop off. He sank down into his bed and pulled his sheets up over him. It took him only a few minutes to get to sleep, and when he did he dreamed of sharp eyes and curly hair.


	4. Chapter 4

The second the school bell rang to signal lunch time, John was out of his seat and across the classroom before the rest of the class had even moved. It had been the most mindnumbing lesson he had ever had to sit through, and he was pretty sure that he had fallen into a deep doze halfway through.

The sun was shining and the temperature was mild enough, so he made the decision to sit outside again for lunch. John's school was a big one with over nine hundred students, so it often felt stiflingly crowded, especially during lunch time. Despite being in his final year, he still doubted that he'd be able to name half the students in his classes.

Sighing softly to himself, John settled at his usual spot under a tree on the lawn at the side of the school building. He ate alone most days, and hardly anyone ever bothered him. Taking his lunch out of his bag, John glanced around disinterestedly as he began eating. There were a good few people lounging around in the sun as well, laughing and chatting loudly.

His eyes strayed again as he finished his lunch, coming to rest on a small alley by the side of the school building. It was notorious for being the place where the stoner students went to get high, smoke or drink. 

And right at that moment, a tall, thin figure was stumbling out of it.

It didn't take a genius to realise that the boy was probably as high as a fucking kite, judging by the way he halted in his tracks and peered bemusedly at the sun. But that wasn't why John was staring at him.  
The boy looked horribly familiar, but John just couldn't place him. Black curls fell over the boy's face, obscuring John's view, but even so he had a feeling he knew him. 

He was still staring at the boy in intense concentration, struggling to figure out where he knew him from, when suddenly the boy straightened and looked right at him. John froze like a deer caught in headlights, eyes widening comically, before he frantically dropped his gaze. A light blush crept up his neck, and he quickly ripped a book out of his bag and buried his face in it in a weak attempt to look nonchalant.

It was mortifying enough having been caught staring, but John was fairly certain that he had been pulling one of his bizarre "concentration" faces; with his nose crinkled up and his eyes squinted and his tongue poking out. Barely containing a groan, John just took a calming breath and forced himself to focus on the book in his hands, but he was so flustered that none of the words seemed to make sense to him. He was staring at the page in front of him for several moments, without really absorbing anything he was seeing.

"Your book is upside down."

John jumped so violently that the book went flying, and he made an odd squeaking sound when he saw that the stoner kid was now standing over him and squinting down. "Oh. Yeah, it is." He said weakly, mentally beating himself with a stick.

"Is that how you usually read?"

"Uh, no." A nervous laugh burst out of him, startling him slightly. He risked a glance up at the other boy; in addition to the messy curls, he had sharp cheekbones, an eyebrow piercing, and blue eyes that were currently redrimmed and watery. And suddenly, John knew exactly where he knew him from.

His mouth fell open, but he couldn't think of anything to say. This was most certainly _not_ the way he had imagined meeting his internet friend for the first time. Nothing about the boy was what John had expected.

Apparently unaware of John's confusion, Sherlock sat down heavily next to him and stretched out lazily. "You were staring at me. You still are, actually."

"Oh, um... sorry." He cursed himself as he flushed red again.

"Quite alright." The taller teenager grinned at the sky. "It's a pretty day, isn't it? Look at all the bees..."

"Are you... stoned?" John asked cautiously, his eyes wide.

"Yes. Completely plastered." Came the easy answer. Sherlock was still grinning at the sky. "But I think it's rude to ask that."

"Well, I think it's rude to get stoned and then come over to bother people." The smaller boy muttered irritably, picking up his book again. This was definitely not the Sherlock he had expected. Where was the quick wit, the dry humour, the sharp tongue? Granted, it was probably buried under whatever he had smoked, but John was extremely disappointed. And then for the first time, he wondered what Sherlock was doing at his school.  
It was entirely possible that he was a student and John had never noticed him around the school before (he wasn't known for being the most observant person in the world), although it was unlikely that he had completely missed the person whose selfies he had been gazing at for the past several weeks. He even had some saved on his phone (not that he was going to admit that though, because that was probably considered creepy). "What are you doing here?"

"Define here." Sherlock mumbled, squinting around at John. "Do you mean "here", as in this exact moment in time and space? Because that's a very deep-"

"I mean _here,_ as in this school."

"Oh. Getting an _education_ , I suppose." The way he said the word was tinged with disgust and derision. "You never told me your name, by the way."

 _Oh_ , John realised abruptly, _he has no idea who I am._ He realised that he was disappointed with that revelation, although he still felt a tiny bit of relief. "John."

" _John_." The name was said slowly and curiously. "Hm. I'm Sherlock."

It took a surprised amount of effort not to reply with _I know_. "Well. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I'm not too sure if it has been."

A loud laugh burst from Sherlock's lips, one that lasted far longer than it should have. "I like you." He decided, stretching out his long legs over John's shorter ones and ignoring the sharp glare he was receiving as he effectively prevented the other boy from moving.

"What the hell were you smoking?"

The dark haired boy shrugged.

"You don't _know?_ " John sounded absolutely outraged, and for some reason that set Sherlock off into a fit of giggles. When it began to appear that the giggles weren't about to stop anytime soon, John groaned and thumped his head back again the tree he was leaning on. "Great. I'm stuck with a big, giggling, stoner baby."

The giggles stopped abruptly. "I'm not a stoner baby."

"'Course you're not. Because getting high off of something you don't even know is such a mature thing to do."

And then Sherlock tilted his head, looking bewildered. "Are you mad at me?"

"Yes!"

"You don't even know me."

"Let me up." John demanded. When Sherlock didn't move, he angrily shoved the legs off his and stood up, grabbing his bag and his book as he went. He turned to say something, only to be met with the wide, confused blue eyes. He decided to say nothing at all, and simply stormed off.

...

It was 2 days before John saw Sherlock again.

It was before History class, when John sat in his usual seat by the window and absently opened his book and began to read. He became so immersed in the story that he barely noticed someone take the seat next to his, and didn't even glance up until they cleared their throat.

John raised his head, then froze when he saw who had sat beside him.

 

"Hello." Sherlock said cheerfully, wiggling his fingers in a wave. Gritting his teeth, John looked back to his book and didn't reply. A pout puckered Sherlock's lips. "Are you ignoring me?"

No answer.

"You're still angry with me." He sounded bemused. "Why?"

"You're the smart one, why don't you figure it out?" John hissed at him, slamming his book closed and shoving it in his bag before focusing his attention out the window.

"Is this because I didn't know what I was smoking?"

"Partly."

"Partly." Sherlock repeated dryly, glancing away for a moment. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the desk, and adjusted his dark blue uniform tie. "I have come up with several possibilities as to why you could be angry with me, but I didn't do anything wrong, so-"

"You didn't do anything _wrong_?!" 

"I just said that."

"Do you always do that? Smoke unknown substances, I mean."

"Sometimes."

" _Why?_ "

"I don't think this is about my substance abuse." Sherlock announced abruptly, swinging his chair back on two legs. "I think you're annoyed because you think that I don't know who you are."

John spluttered. "What? I don't care if you think you know me or not, I-"

"John Watson." The other boy interrupted in a slow, lazy drawl as he read the name printed on the cover of John's history book. "Hmm. You look different than what I imagined, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. And I know plenty about you, because you told me."

Oh. He _did_ know who he was. Feeling his jaw clench, John looked pointedly out of the window. 

"Your favourite colour is green, you have a younger sister called Harry, your favourite Batman movie is The Dark Knight, and you have had a ridiculous crush on Captain Kirk from Star Trek since you were eleven."

John choked. "I have not-" he sputtered, flushing brightly.

"Yes, you have." Sherlock rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "It's painfully obvious. Although I, for one, think Mr Spock is infinitely more dashing."

A surprised laugh escaped John's chest, and he looked startled himself upon hearing it. He cleared his throat and glanced at Sherlock quickly. He looked away immediately when he saw that the taller boy's gaze was already fixed on him. "Um.. Ok, yeah. So you do know who I am. I thought you didn't."

"You're the only friend I have. It would be disappointing if I couldn't recognise you in real life."

 _Well. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?_ Clearing his throat again, John decided to ignore it. "When did you start at this school?"

"September." 

"What?" It was May now. A frown puckered at John's forehead. "I've never seen you around."

"I rarely come in." Sherlock shrugged carelessly, still rocking his chair back and forth on two legs. "I don't need to."

"Right..." said John, sounding doubtful. "How come you're in today?"

"I was bored at home. Didn't want to get high. Decided to try and find you."

The teacher arrived in at that moment, saving John from the awkwardness of having to reply. During the rolecall, the teacher called Sherlock's name with an air of bored procedure, but when he was answered with a 'yes', he looked up in sharp surprise. "Nice of you to finally join us, Mr Holmes."

The teenager just gave him a lazy grin.

Once the rolecall had been completed, the teacher stood up straight. "I hope you're all ready for your tests."

"Shit." whispered John, horrorstruck. "I forgot."

As the teacher handed out the tests, John took out his pen and began fiddling with it nervously. He barely noticed Sherlock leaning over to him until he whispered "Can I borrow a pen?" in his ear.

"Why didn't you bring your own?" Despite his eyeroll, he was already handing over the pen.

 

Forty minutes later, John was dragging himself out of his seat and groaning loudly. "That was awful."

"It was fairly standard, actually."

Choosing to ignore the taller boy, John kept complaining. "Seriously, that was so crap. I never want to hear about King George the Second again."

"The test didn't mention King George the Second, it asked about King George the Third."

"Shit!" John hit himself on the forehead. "I hate everything. Thank god it's lunchtime." He muttered, slinging bag over his shoulder and trailing after the rest of the class as they filtered out the door. Sherlock followed him, although he seemed uncertain as to whether he had permission to follow John or not. 

John led the way outside, to his usual spot under the tall oak tree, and settled down under it. He watched as Sherlock followed suit, tucking his gangly legs under himself. They both fell silent as they began picking at their lunches.

"Did you mean it when you said I was your only friend?" The question seemed absurdly loud in the silence that had settled over them.

"Yes." said Sherlock, with zero hesitation in his voice.

That was kind of sad. Even though John was in much the same position. "Well, then... Um.. Can you promise me something?"

Blue eyes narrowed slightly, and Sherlock lowered his sandwich as he inspected his newly proclaimed friend closely. "What?"

"Don't smoke any unknown 'substances'. Or snort any, or whatever it is you do." Watching closely for a reaction, John nervously ran a hand through his brown hair.

"Fine." 

"Really?"

"Yes." Sherlock shrugged lazily, leaning back against the tree. "I won't smoke anything I don't know. But you can't stop me from smoking what I do know."

Sighing through his nose, John looked out over the green at the other students lying on the grass. "I suppose I can't." He mused, frowning slightly. Not that he couldn't try, of course.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Startled, John found himself wondering if Sherlock had just read his mind.

"Don't frown like that." Reaching out a slender hand, he poked at the creases in the shorter boy's forehead.

"Oh." John quickly rolled his eyes. "You're allowed to do drugs, but I'm not allowed to frown. That seems fair."

"I never said it was fair."

"Well then, I'll frown if I want to."

It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine, suit yourself."

"I should go." said John, rolling to his feet and swinging his schoolbag over one shoulder.

"There's still ten minutes left of break."

"I like to be early." John murmured, watching as Sherlock rose to his feet too. "You don't have to come. You can stay here if you want to."

Sherlock didn't answer. He just followed John to class. And they probably wouldn't ever admit it, but they were both a little glad for the company.


End file.
